Flesh and Bones
by Dandro
Summary: A collection of oneshots, drabbles and shortfic by D, slashy and nonslashy.
1. Sincere Things

Author's Note: I'm sort of new to the MASH fandom and trying my best to keep the characters fairly in character. I'm open to suggestions on how to improve my portrayal of canon characters in my fanfics.

Also, the character narrating "Sincere Things" is Staff Sergeant Jude M. Hargrave. While I may not own anyone thatappeared up in the show, I do own him. And now, onto the fic.

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Sincere Things

He doesn't look at me when he talks. Sometimes he stares at the floor or at his feet, or sometimes at another patient entirely, but I know he's talking to me. He sits right at the edge of the bed, just fidgeting as he talks. Even when he's quiet he fidgets. I make him nervous, I can tell. Its part of why he doesn't look at me. I don't blame him for it, not anymore. I used to blame him, of course. I told myself that he was being a harsh judge, that he was too young to understand what was going on.

I don't know how long ago that was, but now that I look back at myself, I can understand exactly why the corporal can't stare at me. Why he can't look me square in the eyes. Sometimes I wish he would, but I know that would be asking too much of him. If he had the courage to look at me. . . no, its not courage. It isn't strength, either. I'd say the stomach. He would look at me.

The few times he does talk to me he's always so nervous. When I see him around the doctors and nurses, he seems so much more confident, and that is saying something - seeing as if I hadn't known how he acted around me, I would have called his friendship with the people here nervous and shaky. He never calls me by my first name, no matter how many times I've asked him to do it.

I like to think that we're friends. Both of us are NCO. We had started conversation from there. That was the first time I met him, when he could look at me. (Even when he did, he winced and cowered - I don't know as to why.) We talked about animals, family, plans for our lives. When he warmed up, he was a wonderful person to be around, and I could see why the doctors had taken such a shine to this kid. You couldn't hate him or have any ill thoughts towards him. I know I can't, no matter how much I try to be angry at him for how he acts to me. In the end, I only end up being angry at myself for trying to accuse him of doing this to me on purpose.

When I was able to move, he offered to show me around camp. He was so enthusiastic and energetic in his descriptions. We were comfortable around each other then. Even if he didn't call me by my first name, he called me by my last name instead of by my rank - or by 'sir' - like he does now. Sometimes I wish he'd just say it once. Just once.

I blame myself for how he is around me now. He still wants to be friends, otherwise he wouldn't have come to see me, but he's just scared. I wish I could take back what happened. I didn't hurt him physically, but I suppose what I did damaged him in other ways. I didn't even want to hurt him. Looking back, I don't even know what I was thinking. Maybe it was just the fact that there was someone there who made me feel comfortable, welcome, wanted. You don't find much of that in the army, at least not in the unit I'm in.

I wasn't ready to be shipped back, according to one of the doctors, but they had advised me to start using my leg, because I'd be back soon. I took whatever opportunity that came to walk with him. I hobbled across the camp and he eagerly walked next to me, ready to . . . I'd say catch, but if I had fallen, we probably both would have hit the dirt.

We were in the supply tent, chatting for a while. He was checking over something, I don't remember what it was now, and I had tagged along. We were totally alone in there. I approached him, and put my hand on his shoulder, turning him around. I stared him in the eyes, past those dingy glasses of his. I pressed him against one of the walls of supplies and kissed him.

Its not that I love him. I don't, not in that way. Men aren't supposed to love each other like that. But he was the first person in a long time who had shown me compassion and had tried to become my friend without regard for my rank. He honestly wanted to know me. And what do I do to return the friendship he was offering? I act like a homosexual. I _kiss _him without any regard for what he wanted.

He struggled and I didn't let him go. I continued kissing, though I had moved on to his neck. In part, I'm glad for what he did next. He kicked me in the leg, almost right on where I had been shot. I reeled from the pain and he ran. I think I stayed in the supply tent for a few hours, wondering what exactly I was thinking and why I had to do it to him.

He's still sitting on the edge of the bed. I'm wounded again and its the only reason I'm here. I couldn't bear coming back of my own free will after what I did. I lightly reach out for his hand, holding it, squeezing it just a bit. To be truthful, I'm scared.

"Corporal. . ." I wince at the rank and my own eagerness to call him such. "Radar." I correct myself. This isn't just a corporal I'm trying to make amends to.

He slowly pulls his hand out of mine. I guess he doesn't want to be touched by me. If I were in his position, I wouldn't want to be touched by me either. "Yes, Sergeant?"

I lean forward slightly, ducking my head and trying to get into his line of sight. "I'm sorry." Those two words are the most sincerest things I have ever had the chance to utter in my life.

"We all make mistakes, sir."

He doesn't look at me when he talks. I suppose its all the same anymore.


	2. Better Judgement

Better Judgement

It was incredibly early in the morning when Hawkeye came stumbling into his tent, bleary eyed and tired looking. He could easily reason as to why he looked that way; after all, it was rare that the doctor got up so early. There had been instances, of course, but each of those applied towards pranking, not towards visiting him. It wasn't his place to question Hawkeye's motives regardless, so he flashed the man a grin and pulled out his two chairs.

Hawkeye stumbled to the second chair, but didn't sit, instead he slipped it onto one leg and slowly began to spin it - using his index finger to keep it from toppling over. Perhaps he had not come for some form of heartfelt talk, he thought to himself. Just as well, he was a bit tired himself and not yet prepared for a long discussion about anything. Judging from Hawkeye's almost wavering stance and his now sloppy chair spinning, it didn't seem like he would be able to talk long even if he wanted to.

When the chair crashed to the wooden floor, he was a bit startled but otherwise unaffected by the brief noise. Were he anywhere else he expected that he would have hit the deck, so to speak, thinking the noise was an explosion. Though at times Hawkeye was just as bad as shelling.

Without warning, Hawkeye had moved in front of him, staring directly into his eyes. He thought to himself as he returned the stare, that Hawkeye probably had some deviousness in mind; either to be inflicted on him or to include him in some fashion. Both had happened before and considering the time of morning it was incredibly likely.

But neither was the case, as he suddenly found himself thrown down on his bunk with Hawkeye positioned over him. He wasn't pinned as far as he could tell. He could move freely, but the way the doctor was positioned prevented him from sliding out from under him. He might as well have been pinned down.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Hawkeye whispered into his ear.

Nervously he responded to the man, "Y-yes, my son?" He wasn't exactly sure he wanted to know what Hawkeye's sin was, considering the position they were now in.

"I am in love with a man," he stated it clear as day without the slightest bit of hesitation. It was almost as if he had just casually mentioned that the sky was blue or something equally undisturbing.

_ Lord Almighty, help me. _He pleaded silently as he felt Hawkeye place his lips on his neck, softly kissing his skin. If there were more space to move, he would have tried to throw Hawkeye off of him. Regardless of space, he should have tried anyway, but instead he remained still.

He shivered for a moment as he felt Hawkeye run his tongue along his neck, slowly moving up to his jaw line, where he lingered for a few moments to kiss it's contours. The man appeared to be taking his sweet time with whatever he was doing exactly, almost obsessively touching or tracing every curve and angle of his jaw with his lips and tongue.

There were a handful of things he could have done while this was happening, but instead he just closed his eyes, allowing Hawkeye to do as he wished despite the fact that his better judgement was screaming at him for action. There was the distinct thought that he shouldn't have been allowing this to happen, but it was displaced by a second set of thoughts that were more focused on Hawkeye's kissing and gentle licking.

There was hands on his jacket - Hawkeye's - that were slowly removing it from him. He complied quickly, almost eagerly, and for a few moments he was startled by his own actions and willingness. Freed from the jacket, he now had just his black shirt keeping his chest unexpossed from Hawkeye. Without even the slightest bit of hesitation, he felt Hawkeye's eager hands at work once again, slipping under his black shirt and slowly pulling it upwards.

Instead of simply complying this time, he wrapped his arms around Hawkeye's back, slowly pulling him down to him. He slowly slid his eyes opened and once more he flashed the doctor a grin as he pressed his lips against his. Hawkeye may have started calling the shots originally, but now he was going to take over. The doctor would simply have to deal with that for now, regardless of if he liked it or not.

_ Good Lord, _he thought to himself as he ran his tongue over Hawkeye's lips, _the man is wonderful. _For now, he would ignore the fact that what was going on was entirely wrong.


	3. The Real Question

The Real Question

It was some late hour of the night when Charles had finally turned off his lamp, tired of waiting for the other two denizens of the Swamp to stumble their way in when he had begun to hear the raucous sounds of the very two he had been waiting up for. They were singing some form of song, loudly enough that he could tell they were singing, but not clear enough to insinuate that they were any bit close to the Swamp itself.

There was a bit of a debate of if he should force himself back to sleep or rouse himself and guide the men to their beds. He presumed they were having another late night boozing and he was not up for cleaning them off the floor in the morning. Or dealing with the chance of one of them puking and sleeping in it all night. Knowing them, if they were left to their own devices that would be exactly what would happen. Upon arriving on the decision to be a good friend and 'gently' help the two drunks into their beds, he flipped on the lamp once more and sat up. He slipped his legs over the edge and shivered at the cold feel of the wooden floor.

As they got closer, he could hear bits and pieces of their song. "He has just ran out of women, he is breaking out the wine..." He started humming to drown them out. Whatever it was, odds were it was a slurred, perverted song that he just wasn't in the mood to listen to; especially since if they knew they had a listening audience they would sing it all night.

After some time Hawkeye and BJ stumbled in. They also happened to be wearing nothing but their underwear. Of course, for Charles, seeing either Hawkeye or BJ in their underwear was a daily occurence; after all, the three of them did live together in the same tent. There wasn't a scrap of privacy.

"Chaaaaaaaaarles!" Hawkeye slurred at him, blearily pointing, almost falling down as he was now only holding onto BJ with one hand. "What are _you _doin'. . . up?" He hesitated as he tried to find the word he wanted, eventually just spitting it out with a pointless urgency.

"I could say the same to you two gentlemen." Charles eyed the two, wondering where in the world they happened to lose all of their clothing on the way over from either Rosie's or the Officer's club. "Are you two aware that you are missing your clothes?"

BJ laughed for a moment before lurching over to Charles and flopping down into a sort of sitting position. Then he lost his balance and ended up leaning on Charles, resting his chin on the man's shoulder. "Uh-huh. We took 'em off."

He resisted the urge to fling the drunken man off of him, instead humoring and trying to read when the two would pass out. When they were out as a light he would throw the two in their respective bunks. "And why would you ever do that?"

As if on cue, Hawkeye mimicked BJ, collapsing on Charles' bunk and resting his chin on his shoulder. "I think the reeeal question here, Chuck... is why wouldn't we!" He proceeded to giggle like a drunken madman; of which he actually was. Usually he was just a sober madman, or a slightly drunken madman.

He was now trapped, on either side, by two drunken surgeons. Two drunken tent-mates. Two drunken friends. All and all, it felt rather typical. He grinned to the two men, knowing that in the morning they probably wouldn't remember a single thing. "I'll ask you in the morning. Now, how about you both get some sleep? We'll talk about anything you both desire when you wake." He spoke softly, doing his best to convince the two men that he was sincere about talking. He had done this before, and more often than not, it worked.

With a bit of hesitation, BJ was the first to accept, nodding his head slowly and rubbing Charles'. "Okay. We'll... we'll talk in the morning."

Hawkeye drunkenly scrutinized him before accepting as well. Though unlike BJ, Hawk flung his arms around the taller man in a hug, "Thanks, Char - Char - Charles."

He nodded and helped the two men stand. After they gained their balance, he guided them to their beds and tucked them in afterwards with a sigh. Both of them were out like lights as soon as they hit the bunk. Whatever they had been doing had clearly worn the two of them out; but it was unlikely that he'd ever know what it was they did exactly.

Pleased with his work, he finally climbed back into his bunk, turned off the lamp, and went back to sleep.


End file.
